For You
by Nyneve
Summary: You were a selfish, spoiled, manipulative man, Quatre Raberba Winner...


I own nothing

For You

A Love Letter of Sorts

To My Husband

"My mother died too."

That was it?

That was supposed to make me fall in love with you? After you robbed me of my family, my friends, my duties, and my heart? How could you possibly think that those four stupid little insignificant words would make it all better? I doubt you gave a damn about my mother. How could you? I barely knew her myself. Which of course was another thing we shared. You had no memories of your mother, I had only the dimmest sepia-colored flashbacks of mine. All that I know is that she was beautiful until she got sick, and even then, behind all of the tubes and machines and the shadows in her shriveled face and the emptiness in her eyes and the awful smelling nightgown that never got washed, she was beautiful. I remember her singing, and walking with me up the steps to the shrine when the cherry blossoms were falling, sticking in our matching raven tresses like the softest, sweetest smelling snow anyone could ever possibly imagine.

But my mother has been dead for over thirty years. So this is almost irrelevant.

Except for the fact that it points out one greater difference between us. So what if our mothers are both dead? You probably hadn't even woken up from your first nap outside your mother's womb by the time she was gone. I, on the other hand, had to watch mine get sicker and sicker, dying slowly and painfully while my father was off screwing his secretaries and my grandfather was struggling to keep his daughter alive and keep his granddaughter from crying. And when she was gone, it was just the two of us, Grandpa and me in the shrine, with the bonus of annual visits from my father that were as fun as a trip to the dentist.

And you? How did you enjoy your childhood? Your father's favorite, your sisters' favorite, everything you could ever want at your disposal, and a future so bright it bleached your hair and smile and ideals. I think blue was your favorite color, wasn't it? Well in my eyes, you will always be white. Not the gentle, lovely white of a bridal gown or of a peace-bringing dove, but that glaring, painful white of a winter sun on fresh snow that will burn your eyes if you're not wearing sunglasses. It hurt to look at you, all the way to the end. The only part of you I could ever stand to look at was your eyes. Those clear, blue-green eyes that reminded me of the ocean, and would always temporarily wash away my hatred and resent for you and replace it with affection, and tender thoughts that almost felt like love.

But again, I digress.

I suppose being the heir of the infamous Winner family had its advantages. Hell, I _know_ it did. All I had to do was marry you and I got the complete package. But unlike you, I can appreciate it. I'm not afraid to admit that my dad was well-to-do. But there's what I like to call "Hino family" rich, and there's "Winner" family rich. The former is a great deal less than the latter. And besides that, my father was a stingy old miser who was ready to give me fancy dresses and gifts, pay for a private education, and help my grandfather keep his shrine open. But did he pay the grocery bill? Did he pay for my doctor's visits all those times got sick as a child? Was he going to pay for my grandfather to be put into a retirement home after I couldn't take care of him anymore? Of course not.

And you? You got everything you wanted. The best education the colonies could provide, a powerful political position in the colonies and on Earth, a reputation as a war hero, a group of friends who looked after you and never hesitated to visit when you needed them, an army of loyal soldiers at your command, and you even got the wife you wanted even though you knew she didn't want you. Not to mention you got those three kids, but sometimes I wonder if you really wanted them any more than I wanted you.

Now that I think about it, I don't blame you for everything. A lot if it was my father's fault. Maybe it was even mine. After all, it wasn't as if I was rolling in it after I finished college. I knew that a part time teaching job (Japanese history, if you'll recall) and a few gigs singing at a bar at night weren't going to pay enough to keep the shrine open and keep my grandpa in good care. So actually, I was almost glad when my father called on my twenty-third birthday saying there was a young man who wanted to meet me. A _wealthy_ young man. A wealthy_, powerful_ young man. A wealthy, powerful young man whose name just so happened to be Quatre Raberba Winner.

I don't know how many times my father tried to arrange marriages for me. Tons. When I was fourteen (_fourteen; _I couldn't even drive yet), he tried to arrange something between his protégé and myself. Of course that fell through. Can't imagine why. Could it have had something to do with the fact that a twenty-five year old man who had a girlfriend didn't really want to marry a girl with a bad temper and no breasts or high school degree? Possibly. And since then, there were only others. But I wasn't going to have any part of it. At that point, I couldn't afford to. Not with trying to save the world every five minutes, _and_ graduate at the same time.

I was sixteen when the other Senshi and I defeated Galaxia. That was the last major enemy we had. Oh of course there were other monsters, things that came from our world and others that just happened to find it, but they were no big deal. Nothing we couldn't handle. Balancing the rest of my education and a part time job wasn't so bad at that point. But I remember I was always scared. I still am. I'm always wondering, _What if I wake up tomorrow and someone else has come? Someone else who will destroy this world at the people here?_ But no one ever does. The only other enemy I have had to fight since Galaxia was you.

How come you and I never went to a bar? That was where you said you first saw me. Said you fell in love with my beauty and the way I sang and the fire in my eyes. Well I never saw you, that is, never anywhere except for on TV or the cover of a magazine. And yet, one day I went to a restaurant for my annual birthday dinner with my father, and there you were. So beautiful it hurt me to look at you. Light was radiating off of your white tuxedo and pale skin and white-blond hair, and the only color I could see on you were those blue blue eyes of yours. My father introduced us, we did the smile, polite handshake thing (and you kissed my hand too, didn't you? And for once I didn't hate it, I remember…), and sat down to eat. We started with small talk, then we talked about me a little bit, and the rest of the night was you, you, you. My father was the one who did most of the talking. He thought you were the greatest thing in the world. A sharp businessman, a shrewd politician, a war hero, and ain't he good lookin' Rei?

I laughed politely and sipped champagne, trying not to look at you.

By the end of the night, we had another date. Just me and you this time, which was a relief I guess. But after we departed and my dad drove me back to the shrine, he and I had a long conversation. He knew I was in financial trouble. He also knew that I had no serious future careers. I was never going to make good money teaching, and I had to be crazy to think I would get discovered and be the next Japanese pop star to take the world by storm. So why not do everything I could to make something work between you and I? We could get married, you could go on and do your whole "big man in the colonies" thing, and I would be your trophy housewife and raise the kids and smile pretty in the pictures. Easy enough, right?

Except I couldn't do that. It's not in my nature. I'm a selfish person. I know that. I wanted to do great things myself. The last thing I wanted to be was my mother: married to a politician who didn't give a damn about his family. And what could I say? I barely knew you. In my mind, you were my father. After all, he liked you a lot, and anyone he would want me to marry would have to at least share his political views, if not be one of his allies.

And yet, I had no other choice. Grandpa was getting worse, and his medical bills were getting higher. Plus there'd been some bad rain this past spring that damaged my roof. I wasn't going to ask my father for help, and even if I did, he probably wouldn't give it to me unless I went with you anyways. So I did date you. Several times. And it felt like a defeat every time I did. Every time I got into the back of your limousine, it felt like my pride was getting run over with by a truck. For every designer dress or piece of expensive jewelry you gave me, I felt like a prisoner of war, forced to take what meager food I could in order to survive. And when you kissed me, held me, made love to me on your expensive leather furniture or your marble floors or your oriental rugs, I felt like a prostitute doing whatever was necessary in order to get a fix and live on to the next day.

Why did you have to choose me? You could have any girl in the world. Any rich girl, any poor girl, any girl prettier or smarter or richer or nicer than me. But you're a selfish man. You had to have the one who you couldn't have. The one who didn't want you. I know you knew I hated you. That I hated having to depend on you and your favor and your money in order to keep living day-to-day. But even so, you wanted me. And not just my body either. I have to say, for one who looks as frail and gentle as you, you were always a master at seduction, making me beg and scream for you before finally bringing me to heights I had never known. You had no trouble getting my body. What you wanted was my heart and soul. You wanted my love, and I also suspect you wanted my approval, and most certainly you wanted my respect. And what could I do but give them to you? Say no, break off our relationship, sever the financial ties with my father, and end up living on the streets? No, it could not be done.

So yes, I loved you, and I respected you. But I also hated you. The only person I ever hated more was my father, but he was such a distant, disconnected part of my life that that hatred was also disconnected and distant. You, on the other hand, were different. I ate dinner with you every evening, and woke up in your bed almost every morning. And you tried so hard to please me. As if you wanted to apologize for making me so miserable. There was nothing you could do in the world to repent for what you did to me. You took my pride and my freedom and my confidence with that bright smile and those kind eyes of yours. I had no future other than being your wife, and my past seemed like a fairy tale. Did I once use the power of fire to protect this world? Did I once have a family of women who looked after me and each other like we were the only ones that mattered in our lives? No, I couldn't have. That was all a happy dream.

All of them came to our wedding though. A beautiful, extravagant ceremony, and a lavish reception where everyone went home completely drunk (I suspected even the children had been drinking), laughing, and singing badly. I remember dancing with all of my friends, one by one, and listening to their kind and hopeful words. I remember Usagi telling me about how our children would be best friends, Minako laughing and promising to steal my wedding dress because it was so beautiful, Haruka's gentle sisterly kiss on my cheek, and Setsuna's beautiful, guarding, yet somewhat sad smile. I think she alone might have known what I was going through. But I never got to talk about it. After we got married, I put the dream behind me, and resigned myself to the cold, bitter reality that I had entered.

On our honeymoon, you told me you would make me into a princess, an empress, a goddess. You told me you loved me so much that you would deny me nothing. I think had gotten drunk and told you a little bit about how cruel my father was to me, ignoring me all those years, and you swore you would never do that to me or our children. You claimed you knew what it was like to be alone, but I didn't believe a word of it. You have never been alone. If you had, you would have learned that the world does not revolve around you and your wishes and desires. You would have learned that you were not meant to receive everything you wanted.

But of course, you did. I certainly couldn't deny you. No one else could either. And after the honeymoon, I began living out my new destiny, not as a famous career woman or a protector of the world, but as a housewife. Oh I still studied music. Took private lessons, got pretty good. But I never sang for anyone except you. You didn't want me to. I knew this because when I would sing I would look in your eyes and I saw something so possessive there, the same light I saw when you made hot love to me and claimed me as your own in every way you could. Besides music, I also filled my days with reading, running, writing poetry, and I even learned to cook, even though we had a whole kitchen staff to handle that sort of thing.

Then I got pregnant. And wasn't _that_ special? You will never know what it's like to carry a child for nine months knowing you could very well hate it solely because of the man who fathered it. Every day I wondered if he would look like you, if she would grow up and share your ideas about life, or if I would even be able to recognize any of myself in him or her. And during that time you kept the promises you made to me on our honeymoon. You were the model husband. You were supportive, attended every doctor's visit, every birthing class, read every book of names, and made sure every one of my insane cravings was sated. And when I went into labor, you stood there with me the whole time.

He was a beautiful boy, beautiful like you. So pale, so small, and with bright green eyes that came from your sister's side. We named him Recca, the Japanese word for flame, because you wanted to worship my past as a Senshi. And could I argue? No. He was your son. I just carried him. There was nothing of me in him. There was nothing in your daughter that came two years later, either. Lovely Fatima. Now _she_ was exactly like you. She had your coloring, your eyes, your smile, your sense of humor, your quiet intelligence, and that manipulative manner that evoked love from me whether I would give it or not.

Two children, a boy and a girl, all you, all yours. I know you loved them. I know they loved you. And it was painful for me to watch you with them. It was like watching lovers kiss each other on the street when I'm standing alone in an alley. It made me feel cold and lonely inside. But then I got pregnant one more time, and this time, joy came back into my life. Our third child was mine. My son, my Kurosen. He looked nothing like you, had none of your painful brightness or subtleties. He was dark and quiet and one might even call him brooding, but I loved him. He was a bright boy, short tempered, but not violent. Rather, he kept his anger inside, and as he got older he would express it in art or take it out through exercise. The boy liked to fight, still does. I know you never approved of violence, which was another thing that drove the two of you apart, but I didn't care. Kurosen was mine, he could do no wrong.

There were rumors that he wasn't even your child. But that's not true. He looked nothing like you, but in all my years of marriage to you I have never been disloyal. I sacrificed my pride in marrying you, but I was not going to give up my honor and dignity in being a bad wife. Because for all of the things I felt inside, I still followed the rules to the letter. I loved you. I cared for your children. I agreed with what you said and did what I could to make you happy, just like you did for me. The only difference was that you loved me completely, I don't doubt that. There was no hatred for me, not even exasperation or resentment at my feelings. Which of course made me hate you all the more. But I never left you. Ever. I couldn't do that. Not to you, not to our children. I couldn't break your heart like that, and I couldn't make our children choose. I know Kurosen would go with me anywhere, but the other two? I loved them to, for all it was worth. I didn't want to lose them. And I knew if they would have to choose between you and I, they would choose you. My heart and my pride could not bear that either.

For nineteen years we were together. Nineteen fucking years. But we couldn't make it to twenty.

Tell me something. How the hell does a man like you become a terrorist before he's twenty years old, risk assassination attempts as a politician, and manage not to get killed by his crazy wife, and yet die in his car at age forty-four? You risked your life every day, and yet all it took was one drunk guy in a pickup to rip you out of this world. Out of my life. And I cried. Tears of sorrow, tears of anger, tears of joy. I hated you, but I loved you too. You were my husband. The father of my children. I had shared my life and my bed with you for almost twenty years. And now you were in heaven. Where you didn't belong. How come I couldn't ever tell you to your face how you made me feel? How come I would never be able to take revenge on you for taking what you did from me?

And now…now what am I going to do with you suddenly missing from my life? What am I going to do without those manipulative chains of love and desire and possession are going? What am I going to do now that I am free? Our children are seventeen, fifteen, and thirteen. Recca is going off to college soon, and Fatima asking to go away to boarding school, because she can't bare to be in this giant house of ours without you. Soon, it will be only Kurosen and I, alone. We could go anywhere in the world, anywhere in space. But where? And what are we to do when we get there? I am haunted by the questions every night, when I lay alone in bed and stare at your picture on the nightstand and I miss your voice and your touch and your eyes and I hope you are burning in hell at the same time.

We wait.

Kurosen is a writer, did you know that? He told me he never showed any of his pieces to you, but that doesn't mean you never knew. He showed me a letter he wrote to you after the accident, one he eventually burned in a fire in the garden. I watched him from the window that night, staring at the red hot ashes that floated up into the black sky and faded amongst the stars. I had read his letter before he burned it. He said he was sorry that he wasn't a better son, that he didn't try so hard to be close to you. He wished that the two of you had been more like you and Recca were, but that he was also upset that he was never good enough for you. He was upset at your expectations, at the kind way you always demanded things, and at the way you made him feel such guilt when he couldn't be everything you wanted him to be.

I wanted to cry when I read that. I saw the way he looked at you. He looked at you liked I did.

Tell me, Quatre, did you ever look at Kurosen that way?

I doubt it.

You were always too kind for such things.

_End._


End file.
